


A New Face on Things

by sue_denimme



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sue_denimme/pseuds/sue_denimme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tenth Doctor checks himself out in the mirror for the first time after regenerating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Face on Things

Summary: 

 

What was it like to have only one face? the Doctor wondered idly as he slid the end of his tie through the knot.

Only one face, all your life. It might get thinner or fatter, or wrinkly or scarred. You might slather it with makeup, or tattoo it, or pierce it. You might grow a beard, or shave it. You might even get bits of it pared down or built up. But still just one face. The same face you'd had since you were born. The same face you were going to die with.

He couldn't even imagine that. It must be deadly dull. How did humans stand it? Never getting that twinge of anticipation just before finally having that peep into the mirror and finding out for yourself what everyone else saw when they looked at you.

All he had to go on so far was: he was thinner than before; he had a slight weakness in his right dorsal tubercle (which had probably not been helped by having that hand severed and regrown); he had big hair with sideburns (or really bad skin), and a mole on his back; his teeth were straighter, and he wasn't sure, but he thought his ears were smaller. Oh yes, and he wasn't ginger.

What else? He was brilliant -- went without saying, really. He wasn't bad with a sword (he thanked whichever past incarnation had first decided to learn that little skill.) He had fantastic taste buds, and superb aim with a satsuma. And he had a hell of a gob, when it got going.

He put on the long brown overcoat. Anything else, any other finishing touches? No, apparently this incarnation wanted to keep it simple, relatively, on the outside at least. No scarf, no celery, no little badges. No question marks, thankfully. (He couldn't believe he'd had three incarnations obsessed with the bloody things.)

Well, then, no sense putting it off any longer. Now for the big reveal. He stepped around to the large oval mirror.

Oh. Hmm. Not bad, really. Not bad at all. Could have been worse. Much, much worse, in fact.

The stranger's face that stared back at him, its expression both eager and quizzical, was rather narrow and angular. A human would probably guess him to be in his mid-thirties. Hair -- thick, straight and dark brown. Not even a hint of ginger (damn). And yes, those were sideburns, not some weird form of acne. Eyes -- brown. Interesting. Had he had a brown-eyed incarnation before? He couldn't recall. Sort of big and doe-like, too. Not sure how he felt about that.

Ears -- yes! No more "big-ears" jokes! The nose -- ahh, now _that_ was a nose. Probably the best one he'd had yet, in fact. Tiny bit crooked, but strong, and that curve along the top of it was rather a nice touch. Lips -- not quite as full as his last lips (they had been one of the few things he'd liked about that face), but ehh, not exactly thin either.

All in all, it wasn't really a classically handsome face, not like the one before last, the one that looked like he'd escaped off the cover of a romance novel. But recalling some of the ones he'd had... oh yes, he could definitely get used to this.

Well, that was a bit of a relief. He'd been mostly joking when he'd told Rose that he might end up with two heads or none, but teratogenic regeneration was always possible. Rare, but possible. And in his case, when one considered the stressful circumstances that always seemed to surround his regenerations, the fact that all of them had turned out viable so far was pretty amazing.

But never mind that. All things told, this one had come out rather well. Better than most, in fact. Tall, slim, and really quite dashing, if he said so. Feeling pleased, he grinned. Whoa, look at those teeth! All white and nice and even. Then he tried scowling. Ooh, he did like the way his eyebrows swooped down when he glared. He raised them, and lowered them again, together and separately. Yep, definitely had to love those eyebrows. Oh, he was going to enjoy this incarnation.

Suddenly the words "Two minutes to Belgium" came from absolutely nowhere and wandered across his consciousness. Along with the memory of watching a skinny man -- who looked an _awful_ lot like the one in the mirror -- sticking his leg up on top of the TARDIS console.

Oh, lovely. He was going to cross his own timeline, in this incarnation. He couldn't recall just now which past him had met this him. Hopefully not the one who ran around looking like a circus had thrown up on him. He'd never live it down if Rose ever saw that one.

Putting it out of his mind (something he'd had a lot of practice doing), he took a moment to turn this way and that, observing the way the long coat swirled about his legs. Then he leaned closer to the mirror, ran his tongue around his teeth, passed his hand over his whole face -- as if to confirm its reality by touch -- then straightened, gave a loud sniff, and turned away at last.

Rose was standing there, a pile of clothing draped over one arm. He recognized his old leather jacket, the one his last incarnation had worn, on top. How long had she been watching him?

The Doctor tried out his new smile on her. "Hello!"

"Hi." Her return smile was a little nervous. "I see you've found something to wear."

"Yeah. Didn't want to go haring about the universe in jimjams and a robe. It may have worked for Arthur Dent, but still, a _little_ undignified. So, what d'ya think?" He turned around, modeling.

She stepped back, her eyes taking in the pinstripes, the overcoat, the tie, the Converse trainers. "Uh, it's fine. Suits you. I like the coat. It's very...flappy." She cleared her throat, and held out the clothes. "Thought you might like these back. Mum cleaned them for you."

"Oh. Well -- tell her thanks." He took the clothes and hung them up without a second thought. When he turned back, however, he was stopped short by the look on Rose's face. "Something wrong? You all right?"

Rose gulped. "Yeah -- it's just...I can't believe he's gone." She put a hand up to cover her mouth, and scrunched her eyes, and he realized that she was crying.

"Who's gone?" He was truly bewildered.

"Him! You! The old you, I mean." A sob escaped her.

Though he was mystified as to why she was suddenly so upset, instinct moved him to cross the slight distance between them and put his arms around her. "Rose, it's all right. I'm not gone. I'm right here, in front of you. I'm still the Doctor. You even said so yourself. I just changed, that's all. You were there. You saw me change. You know it's me. Come on, now, don't take on like that. Please." He found himself stroking her hair as he held her.

Rose gave one more shudder, and pulled back. He could see her making a mighty effort to control herself. "I'm sorry," she said shakily. "I know all that, really. I know you're him. I just -- " She stopped, apparently unable to go on, and fished out a tissue to dab at her eyes.

The Doctor watched her carefully, but she seemed to be regaining her composure. "Did I frighten you, by doing that?" he finally asked, softly.

"Yeah." He could barely hear her.

"I didn't mean to."

She nodded. "I know."

He took in a deep breath, and let it out. "I'm sorry, Rose. It's a perfectly normal biological process for me. I just -- forget sometimes how it looks to other people. You weren't prepared, and that's my fault. I knew it could happen again while you were traveling with me, but I never told you about it. For much the same reasons that humans usually don't talk about their own deaths, I suppose."

Rose peered up at him from behind the golden curtain of her hair. "What d'you mean, again? It's happened before?"

Slowly, he nodded. "That me, the one you first met -- that was my ninth incarnation. This is my tenth."

"And -- you've been different every time?"

"Yep." He rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "Some Time Lords used to be able to control how they looked, but that was usually when they were safe at home on Gallifrey and had time to concentrate and direct the energy. For me it's always been pot luck. My first incarnation was the only one that got to live out its full span. Every regeneration since then has been premature. I haven't had the luxury of choosing my appearance. I've been tall, short, old-looking, young-looking, in-between-looking, brown, blond, gray, white -- "

"Everything but ginger?" Rose graced him with a half-smile.

He grinned back, relieved to see her recovering a little of her usual equilibrium. "Everything but ginger."

She looked thoughtful. "So, this -- thing you do, this regeneration -- you said it was to save your own life." He nodded. "Why do you have to change along with it?"

"Well..." His hand came up to rub his neck again. Hm, what did we have here, then, a new tic? "Normally it's meant for when the body just naturally wears out. You regenerate, and it simply resets to a younger state. When it's used to heal yourself after some sort of catastrophic damage, though, it becomes random. Basically, you take what you get."

"How did you know who was who on your planet, then, if everybody changed their faces?"

He shrugged. "We managed." That was far less precise than he liked to be, but he had the feeling she wouldn't be interested in the full technical explanation, and besides, it still hurt to talk about his people. He could only do it for so long.

There was a silence, during which she cast her gaze downward, biting her lip.

Hesitantly, because suddenly the answer was monumentally important to him, he asked, "Do you still want me to change back?"

Rose looked up. "You said you couldn't."

"I can't. But -- do you still wish that I could?"

She seemed to think about that for a moment, then she sighed. "I dunno. I know the old you didn't die, he just changed. But I can't help it. To me it's the same as if he _did_ die, 'cause I'll never see him again. And in his place, suddenly there's some strange bloke hopping up and down in the TARDIS, then going comatose right when I never needed the Doctor more, and then he's awake and having a swordfight in his pyjamas and getting his hand chopped off and growing it back, and it's all so -- so -- "

"Alien?" he finished, quietly.

"Yeah." There was a trace of reluctance in her voice as she made that admission. Then, after a long moment, she met his eyes, and smiled. "But I can handle alien. I won't lie, I do miss the old you, and I'll never forget him. But he's in you, and you proved that. You _are_ still the Doctor. So I reckon I can get over it."

The Doctor rewarded her with the widest grin this new face could muster -- which was pretty damned wide -- and hugged her, so tightly that he lifted her off the floor. How did a mere human, a nineteen-year-old shop girl from London, get to be so accepting and wise and brave and wonderful and -- he really should be more careful here, he knew better than this, but it was already too late and he'd known it from the moment they'd stood together in that dungeon in Cardiff and vowed to go down fighting.

Rose finally pulled back from him, with a laugh. "So, are you coming to Christmas dinner, then? Mum said to make sure to tell you you're invited."

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "She likes me now? I don't know whether to be happy or very, very scared."

She punched his arm. "Hey, you, that's my mum you're talking about!" But she was chuckling. "You did save the world, again. She reckons that's worth putting up with you for an evening. Are you coming? Please say yes."

"All right. I'll check some things in here, and be along in a few minutes."

After Rose had left to help her mum with the preparations, he wandered to the control room and sighed. She might have adjusted to the idea that he really was still the Doctor, but that didn't mean she wanted to continue traveling with him. He needed to work up the nerve to ask her directly -- and that was harder to do now than he'd ever have expected it to be.

Well, he now knew one more thing about this new self of his, besides how he looked: he was more sociable. Where the last him would have viewed this dinner as an ordeal to be endured, he now was actually rather looking forward to it, and not just to keep the peace with Jackie or to make Rose happy. Now there was a shock.

Was that the downside to this incarnation? Insanity?

Oh well, it would be fun finding out. Hopefully.

 

~end


End file.
